


The bloom I always fear

by cakenaps



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Good Severus Snape, Softer Petunia Evans Dursley, character death refers to lily & james
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakenaps/pseuds/cakenaps
Summary: Petunia is given a little more consideration on the night her sister dies.AU based on dirgewithoutmusic's a life of smoke and silvered glass.
Relationships: Petunia Evans Dursley/Severus Snape, Petunia Evans Dursley/Vernon Dursley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	The bloom I always fear

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a life of smoke and silvered glass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457669) by [dirgewithoutmusic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirgewithoutmusic/pseuds/dirgewithoutmusic). 



On November 1st, 1981, at 1am, Petunia Dursley was wide awake. Vernon had snored his way straight through Dudley's cries and the fireworks that had been sounding overhead since 11pm, barely even stirring as Petunia had gone to tend to their son and settled him back into his crib. It would take an explosion, she thought, to wake him - and certainly something as drastic to persuade him out of bed. Petunia on the other hand had always been a light sleeper - too tightly wound to relax, even in sleep. 

Sliding her feet into her slippers, she padded softly down to the kitchen, flicked the kettle on, and reached behind the saucepans to find the box of camomile tea. Vernon wasn't ever likely to open that cupboard, after all. The first time he'd seen her drink it, he'd called it "new age hippie bollocks", and he'd teased her every day for weeks afterwards that she was going to start burning incense and offering tarot readings. It was just a joke, of course, but if she drank the occasional cup at night to regain her equilibrium - well, she might as well keep it to herself as not.

The fireworks were visible from the kitchen window, and she glared at them as her tea brewed, mentally rehearsing the fuss she'd kick up at the next neighbourhood watch meeting. It was inconsiderate enough on New Year's Eve when everyone expected to be up half the night; what excuse could they possibly have on Hallowe'en, of all nights? As she watched, the sparks in the sky came together, pulsating and swirling, until they formed the unmistakable shape of a vibrant orange bird. A phoenix, she thought, rising from a flame. She took a deep, steadying drink. The neighbourhood watch wouldn't be able to do anything about these fireworks, no matter how scathing she was. She briefly imagined calling Lily, asking her to tell her lot to knock it off.

She hadn't seen her sister for a year. It had been their grandmother's funeral - the last shared family member from their childhood, and the only one who had been prouder of Petunia's quiet, ordered life than Lily's bubbling, vibrant chaos. Irene Evans had been a cold, superficial woman, and Petunia knew that her approval when they were children had rested on Petunia's ability to be seen and not heard; that when her grandmother called Vernon ‘a proper sort of husband, not at all like that disgrace Lily married’, she mostly meant that Vernon, unlike James Potter, was white. Still, Irene had been hers, the one thing in her childhood that wasn't about Lily; there was no need to diminish that with the complicated truth. When Lily had tried to get her attention as they filed out of the church, Petunia had walked straight past her.

Of the two of them, though, Petunia was the one who held grudges. Lily had a temper, she was fierce in the face of injustice, but she was soft around the edges and far, far kinder than her sister. Lily would pick up the phone without hesitation - would fondly tell her to lighten up a little - would ask how she was finding her new life as a mother. Lily's son was only a few months younger than Dudley, and for just a moment, Petunia let herself daydream about the boys growing up together like she and Lily had; about Lily popping round while Vernon was at work to share stories about breastfeeding and sleepless nights and how they'd give almost anything to never see an episode of The Clangers ever again.

It was perfectly ridiculous, of course. Lily probably didn't even have a telephone any more, let alone a television. Besides, Petunia was perfectly happy with her successful husband (an executive director, and at only twenty-seven!), her son, her gleaming formica countertops, and her well-tended lawn. She had everything she could ever want, and she didn't need Lily and her spontaneous wildness to appear and ruin everything.

She sighed, standing up and tucking her stool back under the breakfast bar. Watching the fireworks wasn’t going to do her any good, and Vernon had a business meeting at dinner-time tomorrow - so she’d have a long day alone with Dudley. She’d best try to get some sleep while she could. 

Her attention is caught by the soft thud of a letter hitting the doormat in the hallway. Whatever it is can't be good, she knows, not at this time - but she'd rather pick it up before Vernon does. Her name is on the front - her maiden name, she hasn't gone by Petunia Evans for nearly three years now - in sharp, black calligraphy. The handwriting is a little familiar, but it's the wax seal on parchment that prompts her recognition. Within is a single word: "Outside".

She's not sure what has come over her, but she snicks the door onto the latch and pulls it to as she steps out, letter still in hand. She sees exactly who she'd expected to see: a figure in sweeping black robes, facing out onto the street, illuminated by the lamplight. It had been four years since she'd seen him last -- Lily had hugged him so tightly she was surprised his bones hadn't broken, and earnestly assured him that this wasn't goodbye, she remembered. 

"Severus Snape," she says, accusingly, and he turns. She notices his eyes, red-rimmed, and the tautness of his mouth, first - then she sees the baby in the carrier on her garden wall. The boy has a mop of black curls, warm brown skin, and heart-rendingly familiar green eyes. Her hand flies to her mouth.

"I'm sorry," he says, all but confirming her suspicion of why he's here, why he's brought a boy who can only be her nephew.

Stood paralysed on her doorstep, the November cold is seeping through her dainty, fluffy sandals. She looks down at her lilac-painted toenails and thinks, stupidly, about how she'd called Lily's slippers childish, as a teenager - rainbow coloured fur in the shape of a monster's claws - and Lily had stuck her tongue out and told her they were warm and she could shove it. Almost as soon as she thinks it, a gentle warmth suffuses her exposed skin, like stepping into a warm bath. She glances up, surprised, to see Snape stowing his wand back up his sleeve. 

It feels unsafe, somehow, to acknowledge that kindness for what it is. Instead she asks what happened, tries to ignore the way her own voice falters on the question. Snape is nothing if not to the point. 

"They were murdered."

It's not a word she'd ever expected to hear about someone she knew. It was a word for the news, for the crime novels her mother had bought Vernon years ago (he'd never touched them, of course, he wasn't the sort for reading). It wasn't a word for her picture perfect little life in her gentle corner of Surrey. It shouldn't have been a word for her sister.

"They knew there was a threat. They'd been in hiding for months, but they trusted the wrong person, and the traitor-" he spits the word out like a curse, fury apparent in every line of his face "-sold them out." 

A gleaming red lion erupts in the sky behind Snape, and her eyes flick to it. The boy - Harry, she remembers - is watching it too, transfixed. She hadn't thought she could be more offended by them than she was earlier, but: "The fireworks… are they celebrating her death?"

"No," says Severus,"The - the man who came to kill her. She took the bastard down with her." 

"Hm. Quite right," she sniffs, "and… the boy?" 

"Survived, obviously." 

She purses her lips. "I can see that well enough, thank you." 

"Dumbledore intended to leave him on your doorstep tomorrow morning with a letter," he says, "I thought perhaps you might like to be consulted first."

"A lett-- it-- I can't!" she sputtered. He waited, one eyebrow raised. "That child in this house? I haven't spoken to Lily in years, and I'm supposed to be responsible for--" 

"Consulted was perhaps the wrong word. I wouldn't want to imply that you have a choice; you do have to take the boy." 

"Surely one of your kind could take him? For God's sake, does he even have a birth certificate? A medical record? How am I to explain an extra child appearing out of nowhere?" 

"Magic?" He said, clearly unable to help himself, and she scowled. It was no wonder she'd disliked him as a child.

"As you no doubt remember, I don't possess that particular talent."

"I will of course assist in making your guardianship of the boy official."

"And if I don't want guardianship of the boy?" 

"As I said, Petunia, it doesn't matter what you want. Your sister managed to destroy the wizarding world's foremost megalomaniac, and his followers are out for blood."

This sounded, to Petunia, like a very good reason to stay as far out of the whole business as possible. Snape clearly knew what she was thinking, however, and continued.

"His followers will not care that you and Lily weren't close. If I can find you, so will they, and muggle hunting is a sport to them. They will not hesitate to torture and kill you. It is… complicated -" he paused here, as if deciding how much information to reveal - "but Lily performed some old magic, before she died, that protected her son. That magic will keep your family safe, for as long as your family includes Harry."

"Because I did so well at being family to Lily?" 

He exhales, and she looks him over once again. He looks exhausted, and she is smart enough to know that he is exercising a great deal of restraint. He has a far greater claim to being Lily's family, she realises, in all but name and blood.

She is surprised to find her voice softened with sympathy as she asks, "Surely you would wish to keep him with you?"

"You imagine," he snaps, "that what l would wish holds more sway than your own preferences. l can assure you that it is not the case."

It is strange to feel kinship for this man, the first person she can remember ever truly detesting, but he takes no more joy in this conversation than she does. What's more, he could have chosen not to come; his only obligation to be here is borne of love for her sister and the child before them. She does not like it, but she cannot hate him for it.

"You will return tomorrow," she hears, almost before she has decided to say it, "with the boy. My husband leaves for work at eight-thirty, so you will arrive no earlier than eight forty-five."

He takes the concession for what it is. A firm nod is all the acknowledgement she receives before he picks up the child, and disappears with a sharp 'crack'. 

The odd warmth in her toes lingers long after he is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those things that has burrowed into my head and won't leave until I write at least a little bit. I regret to tell you that I'm writing by the seat of my pants and don't know how long this will be - or how quickly I'll update!
> 
> I think that for all petunia is a terrible human in canon, she's also one of the unhappiest characters in the series - and there's nothing I love more than making two miserable people (eventually) experience joy.


End file.
